


Singular They

by LittleQueerdo



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Genderfluid Character, Nonbinary Character, Other, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 17:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21449692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleQueerdo/pseuds/LittleQueerdo
Summary: Crowley looks in the mirror that morning and she sees a stranger.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 87





	Singular They

Crowley looks in the mirror that morning and she sees a stranger.

She can't quite put a finger on it, but whatever _ it _ is, it's wrong. Her hair is stringy, her shirt is too tight (despite being wrapped around the exact same body as last week), the lipstick feels like a mask instead of a clever accent beside her pearl earrings. Really though, it's nothing she's wearing; it's an invisible  _ wrongness _ because the reflection, perfectly polished and chic as always, doesn't match the vision in her mind's eye. She's not quite sure how she knows this when the vision itself is elusive, but there it is nonetheless.

She's been through this enough times that she only sighs and reaches for the cleansing oil.  _ There goes today, then.  _ She wets a cotton ball and dabs her cheek.

Now and then, she'd put herself together slowly but feel a bit off, determined that maybe the last bit would make it click; by the end, as was often the case, she saw a pile of strange garments on an awkward frame. On days like this, the dressing and undressing could get extensive, trying to match the tangible and intangible. From the outside, lesser idiots might see a stereotype; within was a battle they could not fathom.

Crowley decides to surrender before the day's properly begun and goes for their usual backup of black neutrals: loose pants, casual t-shirt, blazer to obscure the chest. They don't know themselves this morning, so they may as well allow some form of comfort.

On days like this, they indulge. (Well, they indulge more.) They stop at the pastry shop with the delightful baklava that isn't for them, grab two bottles of their favorite wine, miracle all the lights green as the Bentley careens towards Soho and Aziraphale. They take note of all the wild hair, lavish tattoos and daring outfits on the way; they're a balm on the invisible knot within.

Crowley saunters into the bookshop, affecting their usual unaffected grace despite it all. Aziraphale, with would-be customers, meets Crowley's eyes and brightens, then flickers a glance at the pastry bag, the wine. The brightness turns firm, backed with marble that's polished to a reflective shine.

'Ah, Crowley!' he calls, warm as ever. To the customers, he says, 'I do beg your pardon, but my partner appears to have brought their favorite wine today, and I'm loathe to make them wait on my account. Lovely of you to stop in, we'll be closed for the rest of the day, thank you, goodbye!'

The angel's been lightly guiding them (nearly a push of miraculous proportions, actually) towards the door, which he firmly locks while flipping the 'open' sign around. He gives a satisfied sigh as he turns back toward the demon with a smile incandescent as lightning, and the knot in Crowley's chest eases as he realizes how well the angel knows them.

On days like this, reassurances are writ large as four-letter words.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, okay, I used fiction as therapy again. Hopefully someone else sees themselves in this too - if so, please tell me. You're valid and I love you. <3


End file.
